You Can't Trust Anyone
by gay smutty smut
Summary: Repost Oneshot. Vague. From anyone's POV you want.


With chilled fingers and numb bones, I felt the world quake behind me. Cuts and grazes forming on my already scarred body even greater by the minute. Every trip I made hurt my chances. Every slip I took could have gotten me killed. As I sprinted forward, across the grass, I could hear the mangled screams as they chased after me. Every fumbling footstep they took brought them closer to me as my heart pumped viciously inside my frail frame, weak from days of peril.

Seeing the abandoned shack I had taken refuge in begin to materialize in the distance gave me a jolt of energy. Hearing another mangled sound escape the lips of one of my fellow friends almost made me collapse in a sudden haze of dizziness. But I retained enough sense to run for the shack, leaping over rocks in a fashion of which I would never be able to do had it not been this situation exactly. Weak and brittle, if I had fallen when leaping from rock to rock over the stream at the base of the hill, I would probably have broken something.

I'd be so screwed if that happened.

So, with anguish and certainty, I bounded across the trickling river and by grabbing a tuft of grass I yanked myself off the ground and up onto a ledge, on which the shack was just moments away. But then I felt it.

A tight grip around my ankle. Those familiar fingers of one's hand I had held many times in the choir room. One hand in which a thousand memories were engraved, etched deep into the palm. I once felt safety, security, warmth and love in that hand. Now, I feel nothing but coldness. Not only the lack of warmth they now possessed, but that when I turned my head to look back at them, the thing that scared me the most:

The lack of remorse in their eyes.

Instinctively, I jerked my ankle downwards and kicked the attacker in the face. They sharply recoiled, and the cold hand left my foot, as they crumpled backwards; obviously losing their grip of the ledge. With sudden speed, I lunged to my feet and darted towards the hut. I knew someone would be in there.

Someone _has_ to be in there.

When this all started going down we had got the place fortified. The main campus was too expansive for us to safely survive. We needed a small place, easily defended and not hard to find. Yes, that was an advantage and disadvantage in itself.

It seems so long ago, though it was merely this morning. Merely this morning that we decided, how stupid of us, for half of us to leave for food back at main campus.

We should have just braved one more day. One more fricking day. Maybe if we had then all of us would still be alive. Maybe if I hadn't suggested this _stupid _trip. What if I had just been content with my life as it is? Why did I need to suggest this _bonding_ idea? It's my fault they're dead! It is, isn't it?

I could have stopped this. I could have saved them all. But for now I had to focus on the task at hand, get inside, get armed, and get out alive.

All in a days work for the average 15 year old, don't you think?

My hand rattled the door handle, and the lock inside rattled. I screamed the password we devised to stop any intruders; one in particular; from entering our safe-house. With an agonizing wait, so horridly slow, I could hear the lock slowly begin to be unlatched.

But I could also hear the angry groans of the attacker, and sparing a second I glanced round, just to see a glimpse of them climbing onto the ledge. They fought agonizingly to their feet, and charged at me, just as the door fell open. With both fear and certainty of death eating away at my soul and therefore my ability to move, it was with either great luck or with some feral need inside me to survive – I need to succeed where others have failed.

Within a second of the door opening, I was inside, and I dived right, hitting the floor hard. One of the three people in the shack; my eyes were too dulled after being tortured with darkness to be able to see anything in the bright hut, apart from two figures cowering, and one slamming the door shut and locking it. My eyes re-adjusted to the light rather quickly, and with the four of us now inside our small haven.

Oh, until the door was almost blown off it's hinges by a shotgun. Pellets blasted through and tore through the air, embedding themselves in the far wall. None of us were hit, but I was severely shaken.

Of the twenty of us who started this trip, only five were left. One of that five was a physco killer, pent on killing every single member who was on this trip. Four of us remained. Three still sane and keeping optimistic throughout the horror.

But the final person. That final person is me. And I cannot stand to be here for one more second, and I'll be damned if I don't get out of here alive.

I will get out of here alive.

But before I could manage to finish my thoughts, the door in front of me was blown apart by another shotgun blast. One of my friends collapsed, blood leaking from their arm, down onto the wooden floor. Another helped them by ripping off their jumper and quickly putting pressure on the wound, removing the bullet.

Then I heard the kick at the door. The hinges were rusty and frail from years of non-oiling and lack of use. It wouldn't take long; or much power, considering the situation the door was in; for the door to be kicked open.

"Defend yourselves!" I screamed at my three colleagues, before I spun round and, making sure to protect my already cut-to-pieces hands, I slammed my knuckles into the fire axe glass.

It shattered instantly, and with floundering arms I quickly tore it off the wall, turning on my heel to face back at the door. One of my friends was armed with a hefty hammer (the shed doubled as a workshop), and another holding one of the guns we had found in a cellar in the woods. The final member of our gang hid behind us three, delving deep into a box to try and find something to defend themselves with.

Agonizing seconds passed where the only noise was my heavy breathing and the smell of fear in the air. Lingering senses of dread filled the atmosphere. Nothing moved.

Everything was still.

Until the entire shack **exploded**.

Turns out there was a propane tank in the corner, and when the attacker had seen it through one of the massive holes in the door, they had slowly crept around the shack, lit a match, and set the propane tank on fire.

Which basically incinerated the entire shack and sent the five of us flying in different directions. I felt my head smash against the back of a rock, and with hazy vision I stumbled to my feet, turning around to come face to face with the killer.

Suddenly, a strange feeling washed over me. I suddenly felt the need to sit down, as if I could no longer support my own weight. I felt my knees give out, and almost as if I was watching myself, I fell to the grass.

With laboured breathing, I slowly glanced down, just enough to see a black handle protruding from my stomach.

My vision blurred even worse as tears crawled into my eyes. I could hear the high pitched scream and low pitched yell of two of my camp-mates, and could see another out of the corner of my eye in a blaze of flame.

Blood leaked from my stomach as I felt my life drain from me, my eyes glassing over and my face turning pale.

I had survived a lot. I had survived a killer, I had survived death and mourning and fear and torture and pain and crime and because of _one mistake _I was going to _die_!?

At peace with the world, and no longer caring about whether my friends made it or not, I saw my vision turn completely black, and with a groan, my head fell to the side.

My body lay limp.

My heart stopped beating.


End file.
